


A Little Death

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 09:17:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16616195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: Joonmyun is his muse





	A Little Death

**Author's Note:**

> 2013 fic
> 
> romance novelist uses sex scenes as an excuse to fuck his hot husband au, 2013 spelling of suho's irl name

Joonmyun's key scrapes against the lock, temporarily startling but decidedly familiar. And Jongdae scoops scribbled, crumpled notes off their coffee table, makes room for him on the coach. As Joonmyun hums, toes off his shoes, loosens his tie, murmurs out a greeting—warm, soft—against Jongdae's temple. His hair is short, black, gelled back, scratching against Jongdae's forehead as he rests it heavily on Jongdae's shoulder.

They're domestic as _fuck_. Kinda suburban. Very, very boring.

Jongdae swats him away half-heartedly, scrunching his nose. Mostly out of habit and feigned annoyance. And Joonmyun's eyes squint into little crescents as he collapses beside him on the couch. The light seems to catch off of them, fucking _sparkling_ , and Jongdae is momentarily dazzled before he playfully drags him forward. Joonmyun laughs against his neck, speaking directly against his skin as he asks how his day went. His breath is warm and wet and familiar. And Jongdae pulls his forward to kiss him softly, chastely. And Joonmyun tastes like coffee, like mint toothpaste, like home.

He loses himself in it briefly. Indulges in the full-body way that Joonmyun kisses. Leaning over him fully, thighs encasing his, one hand in his hair, the other thumbing over his jawline, lazy lazy lazy, breathing into his mouth, humming as he swipes his tongue inside. He murmurs against his collarbone, repeating the question, and Jongdae groans softly in response, sitting up.

He's been writing, _researching_ for the past 7 hours.

Research means cowboy documentaries and straight female-friendly porn. Research means fruitless trips to the library and tabs and tabs of Jstor articles. Research means a blinking cursor, a whirring laptop, and his head in his hands. Research means the occasional existential crisis. Research means bubbling resentment, mounting frustration, tugging to find the words.

But research also means sliding his hand up Joonmyun's thigh suddenly, rubbing his thumb teasingly over the inseam as he bites his lower lip, looks up at him from beneath his eyelashes. Joonmyun's breath hitches. He shudders.

Research means writing what you know. Research means coaxing Joonmyun into making him know.

"I'm writing a scene," he tells him pointedly.

"Hm, what kind of scene?" Joonmyun murmurs against his skin as he grips Jondae's wrist, forces his hand higher. "How can I help?"

And it's Jongdae's turn to shudder.

He's in the business of selling fantasy, paid in the art of embellishment. He's a writer, of the trashy bodice ripping and muscled-man-dragging-a-woman-forward-by-the-waist-and-burying-his-face-in-her-bosom romance novel variety. And Joonmyun is his muse.

"He's a cowboy, and she's innocent and eager," Jongdae breathes. "Against the wall."

Joonmyun is kinda stiff, kinda dorky, kinda _perfect_. Soft-eyed, mild-mannered, kind-hearted, stable in a Sedan-driving, class President, bring him home to your parents if your parents are into you dating dudes sort of way. But there's a promise in his smirk, in his cocked eyebrow, in the way he beckons him over to sit on his lap.

It's Jongdae's instruction, his vision they're actualizing but Joonmyun always manages to take control as he indulges, devastates. And Jongdae loves tearing down his composure, mussing up his hair, bruising his lips, scratching his skin. In these moments when they play pretend for the sake of _art, Joonmyun, it is art._

"Against the wall, huh?" Joonmyun asks conversationally as  he shifts, drags Jongdae forward by the hips until his legs hang over the arm of the coach, and he's breathing hard through his mouth. "He probably drapes her over the nearest surface first, tangles his fingers in her hair, tugs a little too hard, kisses her a little too fast as he undresses her." Joonmyun acts on speculation. He tilts Jongdae's head at a sharp angle as he kisses him hard and fast. Like he's drowning. Like he's been waiting his whole life for this one moment. And when Jongdae whines, he tugs his t shirt over his head, his pants off his hips, crisp cotton scraping over smooth, sensitive skin. "He's probably too caught up in it. Probably too desperate."

"He—he touches her."

"Like this?" Joonmyun breathes, and _God_ Jongdae's head lolls back from the pleasure of that featherlight caress, Joonmyun's warm, smooth, perfect hands, gliding over his nipple, smoothing over his abs. Warm, whisper-soft, it leaves him wanting.

"More bumbling. More passionate."

Joonmyun's eyes crinkle in amusement. From this close, Jongdae can make out the shadow of hair at his lip, the shadow of his eyelashes against his cheekbone as he leans over him, bringing words to life. His hand falls heavier, petting almost clumsily, his palm hot, his smooth nails scraping across the sensitive skin. His hair tickles against Jongdae's collarbone as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, glides his hands down his chest.  He hooks his thumbs into Jongdae's boxers, and his knuckles brush just the slightest against his erection.

"Does he love her?"

"She thinks he does," Jongdae manages, dazed, watching Joonmyun with his lip caught between his teeth. "But it's all fucked up. She just knows—she just knows that the way his hands—the way his eyes linger. She likes thinking about him kissing her, touching her."

Joonmyun hums in acknowledgement. And Jongdae sits up awkwardly to swat Joonmyun's hands away and take over as he undresses hastily. Jongdae twists his fingers into Joonmyun's tie, stumbles to work open his buttons. Joonmyun laughs again.

"The wall," Jongdae reminds him. "He takes her up against the wall."

Joonmyun looms heavily over him, and Jongdae wraps his thighs around Joonmyun's waist, drapes arms across his shoulder. He rolls down messily, grinding into his stomach, moaning into his neck, as Joonmyun stumbles with him, presses him hard against the wall.

Joonmyun isn't a rugged cowboy that's been making eyes at him for the past 6 weeks. No, he works one of those boring cubicle and water-cooler-chatter jobs, keeps a picture of the two of them next to his paperclips, gets an e-vite to a Christmas party every year. But oh _God_ Jongdae feels so helpless, so needy, this soon. And Joonmyun doesn't smell like sweat and leather and sunshine. He smells like pomegranate body wash and Jergens Soothing Aloe, like white out and toner. And his hands should be darker, fingers thicker and longer, but they leave him gasping and helpless nonetheless, desperate desperate desperate. Holding him down, pressing him tight, teasing over all of his sensitive areas. "Like it's the first time, and he wants to memorize. But he also maybe just wants to already know her body?" Joonmyun murmurs. "Is it their first time?"

"Yes," Jongdae groans. " _Yes_ "

Their own first time had been three months in, a good 5 years ago. Joonmyun had held his hand, threading their fingers together, calling him beautiful as Jongdae had melted into his mouth, around his pulsing length, into the sheets. Gasping, sobbing, begging. Joonmyun had touched him, kissed him, held him like he wanted their first to be one of many, and Jongdae had come messily, embarrassingly fast. It feels like that now. Even though Jongdae keeps his toothbrush next to Joonmyun's, even though their clothes bleed into one another in the closet, collecting dust and memories, even though Joonmyun's  small, sleepy sounds seep into his consciousness at night as the soundtrack to his dreams. Even now when they're _pretending_. Jongdae feels suddenly, pathetically sentimental.

"Just _fuck_ me," he urges hotly, wrapping his hand around the nape of Joonmyun's neck to tug him closer. And Joonmyun kisses him again. "You're _claiming_ ," he coaxes in between drags of air. "Demanding and taking taking taking. Pressed for time. Fast, so fast."

Joonmyun laughs, soft eyes disappearing into crescents, perfect teeth piercing his bottom lip. He smirks as he mouths against his jawline, drops Jongdae's legs and grinds achingly along his thigh."Is it forbidden?"

"Yeah. That's sexier. Muffling their moans into each others mouths. And everything is hurried, frenzied, just _need_."

"Need." Joonmyun drops to his knees. Jongdae's head thunks back, scrapes against floral wallpaper as he watches the sharp, punishing cut of Joonmyun's chin, stubbled and scraping along his navel.

" _Joonmyun_."

"Just write this in," Joonmyun murmurs, breath hot. "Something about him pressing her tight, holding her hips down so hard, she can't move. Can only _feel_ as he eats her out."

And he's acting out his narration, locking Jongdae in place as he curls his tongue along the base of his erection. Jongdae gasps. He almost loses himself in these moments. When Joonmyun's lips are swollen from sliding tight and slick and perfect along his cock. When the vein on the side of his neck strains, prominent against his pale, taut skin as he swallows around him. When his eyes, dark and liquid and heavy-lidded burn up at him. When he's welcomed into slick, familiar, exquisite heat. But he _needs_. The words, the words.

"Joonmyun," Jongdae whimpers.

Joonmyun doesn't listen. He takes him in deeper. Mouths hotly as he speaks. "And she's just so vulnerable and desperate for it. Pulling his hair, grinding harder. Because his mouth feels _so_ good," he continues. "And he moans right along with her because she tastes amazing. And maybe she loses herself a little, moans just a little too loud." Joonmyun swipes his tongue slowly, along the underside to just the very tip, lapping at the moisture there. Jongdae presses his fist to his mouth.

"You want to take my job?" Jongdae gasps back, snark undercut with breathless need. "Get housewives all hot and bothered."

"No, I just want to _ruin_ you," Joonmyun murmurs against his hip. His hand takes over, stroking slowly as Jongdae moans.

Joonmyun folds further down. His mouth flutters just a little bit lower, teasingly, breath ghosting over Jongdae's entrance.

"I could actually eat you out, you know. Right here. Turn you around, spread you open—" His voice is husky, promising.

Jongdae bucks up, trembles, and Joonmyun's chuckle blows hot against his sensitive skin. His cheek is soft against Jongdae's thigh, and his eyes flash darkly up in his direction.

" _Fuck me_."

"I like fucking you," he breathes. "It's my favorite thing, Jongdae."

" _Please_."

Joonmyun disengages, gropes back around to underneath the couch for supplies. And Jongdae whines, tries to concentrate on the words as Joonmyun slicks a finger, slides it inside. Jongdae thinks absently about liquid fire, about every single nerve-ending thrumming with pleasure and need. About the weight of Joonmyun's heavy, lust-filled stare. And about tornadoes and hurricanes and natural disasters, the devastating drag of Joonmyun's fingers as he urges him open, urges him broken. He moans, slumps forward to watch.

Joonmyun lips are slick—red and bitten raw—his eyes dark and searing, his fingers demanding.

"You're burning me," Jongdae coaches or observes or begs.

Joonmyun just smiles against his hip, presses even harder, even faster. "He wants her so fucking badly," he rasps. "Knows her body will welcome him in."

" _Yes_."

Joonmyun rises, turns him around, presses him hard.

"Like this?" he whispers.

Jongdae is painfully close to coming from just the huskiness as he nods stutteringly.

Pressed up like tight like this, he can barely breathe, can barely move. But Joonmyun is sliding inside him.  
And he's _everywhere_ , breath panting over his neck, skin sliding against his own, cock heaving and dragging along his walls.  And Jongdae is helpless, moaning desperately, as Joonmyun cages him in, takes takes takes.

The wallpaper scrapes against his nipples, irritates the side of his cheek, and his hands scramble desperately before Joonmyun threads their fingers together, holding them in place as he pounds.

"You feel amazing," he murmurs, pausing just long enough to lick along the nape of his neck, panting and Jongdae undulates whimpers for him to go faster, go harder.

Joonmyun does. Jongdae curls, arches toward it, squeezing Joonmyun's fingers, biting down hard on his own lip as he trembles with every perfect fuck forward.

Jongdae wants to be in the moment even as the words explode in his mind. Beautiful and fleeting, blooming across every inch of sweaty, trembling skin. Because the pulse of Joonmyun inside of him, throbbing and thick and hot hot hot, stretching him open, plumbing his depths. The plush brush of his lips, mouthing and panting and lapping over his neck. The sharp cut of his perfect teeth as he bites down to muffle his own moans. The broken, desperate pace of Joonmyun's heartbeat pounding, racing against Jongdae's back.

And every thrust is perfect, and there are flames of pleasure licking up his spine.

Joonmyun drags one hand down, with their fingers still entwined. He controls the pace of Jongdae's strokes, reinforces the weight of his own hand on his cock. Jongdae's head lolls forward, crashing against the wall as he whines, moans, sobs.

"He probably wants her to come so badly. Wants to feel it, and know it's all his doing."

So Jongdae does. He shatters into a million different pieces that all still _beg_ for him as he comes in heavy pulses, slumping forward, so it's Joonmyun's arms, wrapped suddenly suffocatingly tight across his chest that keep his limp frame upright. He's thrumming with pleasure, in a pleasant, sated daze.

And Joonmyun continues to thrust toward his own completion, groaning his name, hips stuttering as they snap against him.

He does drop him, then and apologizes breathlessly as Jongdae lies limp and sated on the carpet.

"Can you even write?" Joonmyun laughs, petting over his forehead.

"You didn't really listen," he grumbles.

"I'll make it up to you later. Fuck you again exactly how you like." He thumbs over his eyebrow. "Can you write?"

Jongdae bats his hand away weakly, and Joonmyun laughs again as Jongdae nods.

"Let me wipe you off first, okay?"

He rolls over, gropes under the coach for the wet wipes he keeps underneath and cleans him slowly. He thumbs over the thin film left in the aftermath, crinkling his nose, as he rubs it into his skin. Jongdae smells like Cotton Dream, and he hums as Joonmyun presses soothingly over his navel. Then his hand drops to wipe over his puckered entrance, and Jongdae yelps, skin jumping at the caress.

"Did it hurt?" he whispers. "Was I too rough?"

Jongdae shakes his head and grips his wrist, dragging him forward to kiss the side of his mouth. "Take me to couch. I need to write."

"I love you," Joonmyun says against Jongdae's shoulders as the younger scribbles hastily. He mouths over his skin, tracing mindless patterns with his tongue, and Jongdae's neck rolls back off its own volition, towards the warmth and familiarity.

Jongdae turns lazily, dazed, and Joonmyun kisses him. No frills, no glitter, no pretense. Just warmth, just taste, just home. Jongdae cups his jawline as he takes in the tilt of his eyelashes, the warm puff of his breath against his own face. Jongdae can't quite capture the love in his eyes, the way the lazy shadows caress his face.

And Jongdae doesn't think he could ever write him properly. But Joonmyun is his muse.

(That's probably why he doesn't balk at his editor's red lines. That's probably why he's never let Joonmyun read his work)

 

But a week later, Jongdae tries again. The water sloshes over the porcelain edges, as he braces himself on their bathtub, bouncing, urging, moaning. _Grip my hips, touch me like you're scared to ask me to go faster, fuck me like you love me but you're scared to admit it_.


End file.
